


An Inner Monologue: Global Realities and the Human Nature of Seeking Contact

by MiniOranges



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, COVID-19, Gen, Hope, Humanity, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26854642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniOranges/pseuds/MiniOranges
Summary: The most beautiful part of your body is where it’s headed. And remember, loneliness is still time spent with the world.- Ocean Vuong
Relationships: Original Female Character & Life
Kudos: 1





	An Inner Monologue: Global Realities and the Human Nature of Seeking Contact

I breathe another sigh, it’s yet again a frustrated one.

It’s been seven months.

The days trickle like seconds, all the way down deeper, like digging my own grave—only I don’t know when to stop.

It’s been seven months, ever since the world crumbled every one of us into isolation. I feel lethargic still, nothing has changed anyway.

It’s been seven months, and the future feels more livid. The unknown doesn’t excite me like it used to.

I calm myself down by climbing up rooftops.

Somehow, while you’re up here and everything’s down there, the details are clearer.

Yet, I couldn’t escape every passing thought. They climb up with me too. Their intensity so secure, letting them go is like cracking open a part of myself I’m not ready for.

As I drown in papers and papers of online education, with crippling unease succumbing me from the inside out, I think largely—

How I’m studying for a future so insecure, so vague; distracted by the hustle and bustle of working for survival, only to become a slave of the system I never signed up for.

How the state failed us; failed the working-class, leaving to feed on the excess of their greed. It’s not much.

How the unsung heroes in the professions of medicine, sanitation, and service will never live to bask in the joy of commemorating again.

How there’s too much grief, and we can’t even embrace.

If there's one thing humanity is good at, it’s the power of _gathering_.

Gatherings started historical uprisings and celebrated chronicled accomplishments.

From the rebellions of the French Revolution, to the awes of seeing Neil Armstrong set foot on the Moon, gatherings attest as phenomenal ways of sharing, the testament that we are one.

Gatherings were human beings’ way of communicating anger and compassion altogether. And yet, we couldn’t do the same to heave sadness. Like we aren’t worthy of even a semblance of a lifeline during this devastating time in our existence.

There’s much to think about, and it’s only suffocating me more. For some reason, if I don’t do so, I'd find myself empty, stripped off to nothing until even the air stings.

While the sense of going back to normal sounds like a finality all of us could breathe in sighs of relief, I think about how everything would be forever changed.

So I climb down the rooftops, and settle back into bed.

I tell myself; everyone else is as tired as I am, that I am not alone. Because despite everything else, we’re still here anyway—fighting to live another day.

Maybe, that’s all that matters.

Someday we are going to gather—

and we will live to tell the tale.


End file.
